Swingsets
by idontuseffanymore
Summary: Written for a creative writing class. Our assignment was to write about an item outside our window for as long as we could. Warning: Language ;-;


**A/N: Wow. This is nostalgic. I haven't uploaded a fic in, _forever._ The explanation for that would be that**

 **A) School.**

 **B) Finals**

 **C) I moved (not away, just to a bigger space).**

 **Anyways, I'll let you guys read.**

 **More formalities below.**

 **Love you all,**

 **~Hunter**

* * *

 **Author:** Her-Majesty's-Hunter

 **Word Count:** 667

 **Rating:** T (rating for language)

 **Summary:** Written for a creative writing class.

 **Assignment:** Write about an object outside your window for as long as you can.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any ideas or characters in _Supernatural,_ and make no profit from this fanfiction. So in short, _pleasedon'tsueme_.

 _ **Un-betaed. All mistakes are my own.**_

 _ **Please leave a review, they mean the world to me! I promise, I don't bite :3**_

 **~Hunter**

* * *

Swingsets seemed like they were always rickety as hell. It didn't matter if they actually were or not, but they always seemed to creak obnoxiously despite any amount of WD-40 that was applied to it.

This only became particularly apparent to the 22 year old almost-college graduate when he found himself hanging from one.

In a forest, no less.

More of a wood sure, but what kind of elementary school let their paying residents use some cheap-ass swing set with thick ropes suspending the rubber seats rather than chains.

Safety hazard, Riverside Elementary.

Low budget my ass, the youngest Winchester thought as he used his left index finger to pick at the double knot suspending him from the top of the wooden bar.

He paused with a gasp as the bar creaked ominously, hazel eyes darting to the open punji-trap beneath him. I

 _"I'm so horribly, horribly screwed."_

Logically, Sam knew he should just allow himself to hang, not tempting fate by pushing the rotting wooden playset farther into itself and therefore pushing him into the pit of sharpened wooden spikes sticking menacingly out of the sides and bottom of the cube-shaped hole. But leaving his older brother alone with a poltergeist wasn't the most appealing idea either.

A steady electronic beeping and vibration from his the front pocket of his jeans awoke Sam from his tangled thoughts.

His cell phone.

He began to struggle wildly, jerking his knee up in a erratic twitch, trying to dislodge his phone enough for him to accept the call, regardless of whom it was calling him.

A flicker of hope and determination crossed Sam's features as his phone slid just far enough out of his pocket for a green accept button to be reached. He bent his over onto himself, using his elbow to get within a few centimeters of the screen before the bend in his torso caused to phone to slip fully out of his pocket and off his thigh, falling for a terrifying split-second before it skewered itself on one of the stakes below him, glass cracking in a spiderweb pattern around the source of impact.

"Well, shit." Sam glanced down and on the frozen, shattered phone screen was his brother's contact name.

"Of all the times I could have fucked up," He muttered in frustration. As if agreeing with him, the wooden bar above the swingset creaked loudly and splintered, flecks on sawdust flying into Sam's hair and eyes. However, there was a perk to the situation. There was a generalized rule within the family that you didn't phone anyone, regardless of circumstance, unless the hunt was finished. Unless you could ensure that you were safe. That meant Sam could utilize his second option.

Shout like there was no tomorrow.

 _"Dean!"_ He yelled, pausing only for a moment to listen for a response before continuing to call out to his sibling, _"Dean!"_ Sam had nearly ran his throat raw when he heard a faint response.

 _"Sam! Where are you?"_

 _"In the wooded area by the North gates! I'm a little uh, pressured for time here, so hurry up!"_

The bar creaked again, a loud snap echoing from the left side. One of the bolts holding the structure together had popped out of place, the left side of the beam spinning precariously on one bolt, the middle of the bar breaking gradually with the burden of Sam's weight. Sam pushed away a brief flash of panic,

 _"Seriously! Hurry!"_

Sam hung with the soles of his boots brushing the tips of the wooden deathtrap beneath him for a good 10 minutes, arms aching with the strain of being stretched above him for so long, his left minorly dislocated shoulder going numb with pain. Blood from his torn wrists trickled down to splash on the stakes of the punji trap, taunting his every move. "Sam!" The call wasn't as far off as before, and the aforementioned hunter snapped his head up, a figure running towards him.

The younger sagged with relief, "Dean."

 **~FIN~**


End file.
